Dredd grabbed his hand, twisted it, forced him down onto his knees. “Adrian Hanenberger, you are under arrest for assaulting a Mega-City One Judge. Two years.”
A voice from the side called, “Let him go. You no longer have the power to arrest anyone.”
Dredd opened his hand, and turned to see Judge Gillen approaching, with three other SJS Judges following close behind. “Gillen. Heard you were on the way.”
“Joseph Dredd, I’m in possession of verified witness statements of your attempt to intimidate citizen Stacie Quasarano of Brendan Behan Block. You are hereby dismissed from the Justice Department of Mega-City One. You will be stripped of your weapons and all equipment. Resistance will be considered an act of aggression and will be met with equal or greater force. Do you understand?”
“I understand,” Dredd said, “but I’m invoking my right to protest my innocence.” He stepped away from Hanenberger, and stood with his arms outstretched at his sides.
“Protestation noted,” Gillen said.
Two of the SJS Judges approached him. One unclipped his belt, the other removed his Lawgiver and boot-knife.
“Citizen Dredd, for the crime of unlawful intimidation and abuse of your position as a Judge, you are sentenced to thirteen years in an iso-cube.”
As the SJS Judges cuffed Dredd’s arms behind his back, someone pushed their way through the gathering crowd shouting, “Let him go!”
Dredd turned to see O’Donnell striding toward Gillen. “He’s just saved over a thousand people, and you’re arresting him!”
“Correct,” Gillen said. “Interference with an arrest is an offence, citizen.”
“I’m not a citizen of your damn city, so you can shove that attitude where the bees don’t buzz. What’s he done?”
“None of your concern. Move along or there will be consequences.”
O’Donnell grinned. “Oh, really? You and your pals here are going to stop me, are you?” Louder, he said, “You’re going to stop all of us? We owe this man our lives. If you think you’re taking him away, think again.”
“The deputy’s right,” a woman’s voice called from the crowd, and Dredd saw that it was Eloise Crow. “You want to take us all on?”
More and more of the townsfolk, and many of the Earthers, joined in with the protest, until Dredd yelled, “Enough! I appreciate the support, but Judge Gillen is operating within the law of Mega-City One and conducting a legal arrest.”
O’Donnell said, “Joe, you can’t let this happen!”
“You have no idea whether I’m innocent of the charge,” Dredd said. “I know Judge Gillen. She has a well-deserved reputation as an efficient and accomplished Judge. If she has reason to believe that I’m guilty, then I agree with her actions.”
The old man, Abraham Stinnett, pushed his way through the crowd, clutching the hand of his daughter as he pulled her behind him. “But you are innocent, Judge. I can see that.”
“Psychic,” Dredd explained to Gillen.
“Unless he’s registered with the Department,” Gillen said, “I can’t take his word. Besides, the testimonies of Stacie Quasarano and her family have been verified by our own psychics.”
Abraham asked, “What, exactly, do those people say that Dredd has done?”
“We’re not under any obligation to explain our actions to you or anyone else,” Gillen said.
“Then how about explaining them to me?” Judge Ramini asked. “As a courtesy. One Judge to another.”
Gillen hesitated for a second, then said, “Joseph Dredd’s brother Rico was involved in a physical relationship with Stacie Quasarano. After the relationship ended, Ms Quasarano apparently refused to accept that and began to pester Rico. Joseph learned of her behaviour, and threatened Ms Quasarano with physical harm if she did not let the matter drop.”
“Never happened,” Dredd said.
“Four Psi-Division Judges have separately scanned the memories of the Quasarano family and have verified that their recollections of the event are true and consistent.” Gillen tried to stare him down. “It did happen. And it proves you were aware of Rico’s activities and chose not to report or arrest him. That makes you an accomplice to many, if not most, of his crimes. Consider yourself lucky that you’re only getting an iso-cube and not joining your brother on the shuttle to Titan.”
Dredd nodded slowly. “I see. Judge Gillen, I’m not doubting the report of the Psi-Judges, or the recollections of the Quasarano family, but has it occurred to you that Rico and I are physically identical and therefore it could have been him who intimidated the family?”
“Of course it has. But when the incident took place Rico was logged as elsewhere in the sector. Your own whereabouts is uncertain for much of that time.”
“And what was Rico allegedly doing at that time?”
“Taking down a tap-gang operating in Dido Westerbeck Block.”
“I remember that.” Dredd said. “I was the one who initiated the arrest; Rico joined me later to mop-up, and he offered to file the report. Clearly, he switched our names to give himself an alibi. You can have the Psi-Judges scan me if you want proof. If you’d been doing your job, you’d already have scanned Rico to verify it.”
Judge Montag said, “The transport to Titan doesn’t leave for another twelve days, Judge Gillen. You could order Psi-Division to scan Rico now.”
Gillen took a step back. She pulled off her helmet and ran her hand over her hair while she stared at Dredd. “All right... Can’t hurt to take that angle. But you remain cuffed and under guard until I hear back from Psi-Div.”
“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Dredd said.
OVER THE NEXT few hours, every survivor of the storm was examined by Adrian Hanenberger’s medical staff, and assigned temporary accommodation in the refugee camp.
Dredd spent this time sitting on the fractured remains of one of the death-belt boulders, constantly watched by the SJS Judges, his arms still cuffed behind his back.
As night fell, O’Donnell approached Dredd again. “Joe... they found Esteban’s body.”
Dredd nodded. “Figured he didn’t make it.”
The deputy sat down next to Dredd. “Some of the others were saying he fought like a maniac against the Earthers. Even the Earthers themselves were impressed with him.”
“He was a good man. And I know he was your friend. I’m sorry for your loss, O’Donnell.”
“Yeah... They found the preacher, too. Guess he’s on his way to Grud now. Just hope that Grud has the patience to put up with him.”
“Anyone else identified?”
“Conra and Lauren Featherman. They hid out in their basement, along with some of the others. All dead... Joe, what’s going to happen to Hanenberger? Alfonsa, I mean, not her old man.”
“She can’t return to the city, but I’m sure her father will set her up somewhere safe. And far from here.”
“He said he’s going to rebuild Ezekiel,” O’Donnell said. “With much greater security, too. He said everyone who wants to stay on is welcome. I think a lot of them will go for it. Not me, though. I’ve had enough.”
“What will you do?”
“I’ll find something. There’s always a need for pilots to run supplies between Mega-City One and Mega-City Two. Trouble is, the shipping companies aren’t too keen on hiring people who’ve grown up in the Cursed Earth... Don’t suppose you’d put in a good word for me? That’d be against Justice Department policy, right?”
“No, but right now I’m not in any position to make promises. If the charges against me are dropped, I’ll look into it.”
O’Donnell patted Dredd on the arm, and stood up. “Good man. Appreciate that. Hey, it’s just a pity that you only recruit five-year-old kids to be cadets. I reckon I’d have made an awesome Judge.”
“Unlikely,” Dredd said. “You lack discipline.”
O’Donnell smiled, and as he began to walk away, Dredd called to him, “O’Donnell, what was it you were trying to tell me during the storm
, when you were carrying that old man?”
“Oh, that. Yeah, I said, ‘If I don’t make it, tell Novena that her horse is safe.’ I heard the horse as I was heading for Hanenberger’s shuttle. I couldn’t just leave here there to die... So I put her on the shuttle, set it on auto-pilot. One of your H-Wagons has gone after it. All going well, the horse will be fine.”
“You used the shuttle to save a horse?”
“Yep. I could see that it meant a lot to her. And, you know, she’s sweet. I like her.”
“I was right. You’d never have made it as a Judge, O’Donnell.”
O’Donnell laughed. “Yeah, maybe. See you around, Joe. And... call me Red, okay? All my friends do.”
“THE PSI-JUDGES HAVE confirmed that Rico set you up. All charges are dismissed,” Judge Gillen said to Dredd, and gestured for her colleagues to unlock his cuffs.
“Glad to hear it,” Dredd said. “But not surprised.” He stood up and stretched.
It was night, and their breaths misted in the cold air.
“So the investigation is closed?” Dredd asked.
“For now, yes. But... One thing has become very clear from all this. Cloned Judges are more trouble than they’re worth if we can’t tell them apart.”
Dredd looked around at the devastated town. “What’ll happen to all these people while the town is rebuilt?”
“Hanenberger has said they’ll build temporary accommodation. And the new town will be mostly underground, he said, which should help shield it from the weather.” She shrugged. “He’s pompous and full of self-importance, but he’s not a fool. I think he’ll make good on his promises. Especially now that the Department will be watching him a lot more closely.” Gillen nodded toward a waiting H-Wagon. “Let’s go.”
Another SJS Judge was waiting at the H-Wagon’s ramp: he handed Dredd back his weapons and utility belt.
As Dredd clipped the belt back into place, Gillen said, “Hurry it up. You, Montag and Ramini are due back in Sector 198. According to Sector Chief Benzon, your next shift starts in four hours. There’s no rest for the wicked, huh?”
“None,” Dredd said, slipping his Lawgiver into his boot-holster, “and no shelter from the law.”
About the Author
Irish Author Michael Carroll is a former chairperson of the Irish Science Fiction Association and has previously worked as a postman and a computer programmer/systems analyst. A reader of 2000 AD right from the very beginning, Michael is the creator of the acclaimed Quantum Prophecy/Super Human series of superhero novels for the Young Adult market.
His current comic work includes Judge Dredd for 2000 AD and Judge Dredd Megazine (Rebellion), and Jennifer Blood (Dynamite Entertainment). Judge Dredd Year Two: The Righteous Man is his third book for Abaddon Books.
www.michaelowencarroll.com
DOWN
AND
OUT
MATTHEW SMITH
Mega-City One
2081 AD
Tuesday, 16 June
11.01 am
JOE.
There was a dark kernel at the core of his being into which he could retreat. No; retreat was the wrong word. That suggested weakness—that he was running away from the pain. He wasn’t yet prepared to admit that he’d been beaten, or that he was even engaged in a struggle. He was consolidating.
He’d always known the calm centre was there. It was what made him so efficient; this ability to compartmentalise. He could shut off external stimuli, zero in on the essence that mattered: The Law. Duty. The badge. That’s what drove him, made him what he was. It was his engine, his beating heart, and that which he turned to when he needed... purity, he supposed. A clear line of thought, unsullied or complicated by human concerns.
Joe.
They’d taught him this in the Academy, of course; one of the many training exercises the tutors employed to shape these young children they’d taken charge of and turn them into emotionless guardians. Totems, bound by duty to the people they stood apart from and passed judgement on. They were equally servants and captors, there to protect as well as rule through fear. The dichotomy was why it was so important cadets were taught how to shelve their feelings. Put them in a box deep inside, close the lid, and leave them there. Don’t question the system. Justice was required to be delivered by a firm, unwavering, objective hand; it could not run the risk of being impaired by doubt or empathy.
Joe.
The same went for injury. The Academy’s extensive Applied Violence module was very thorough in teaching its charges as much how to receive pain as how to dish it out. No cadet graduated without a broken bone somewhere on their body, courtesy of a tutor’s daystick; some would be barely into their teens and have already experienced the sensation of a live Lawgiver round passing through muscle. Suffering was the fire that forged you; or rather, how you dealt with that suffering determined the kind of Judge you’d be. Push it down, ride it out, don’t let it consume you. Strength of will was everything. The uniform was everything. The Law was everything. It was greater than he was. He had to deal with it, prove that he was in control. He was trying...
Joe.
...he was really trying. He couldn’t let it win (no; there was no struggle, remember?). It was just him and his resolve. Any minute now, he was going to force himself up. He was going to put one hand beneath him and lever himself from the ground. Any minute now.
Any—
Joe.
Dredd opened his eyes. Through the fractured visor a silhouette loomed close. His mind scrabbled for his gun even if he knew his hand wouldn’t be able to hold it; any messages from his brain were ignored by the rest of his body. He couldn’t move. His breath rasped and something rattled in his chest, bringing a fresh wave of pain. He coughed, a coppery taste on his tongue. He must’ve visibly winced; the figure said, Stay calm, little brother.
“Rico?” The name emerged as a croak.
It’s okay, I’m here, the figure said, and Dredd felt a hand hold his. I’ll stay with you.
“Stay...?”
We’ll stick together. Like clones. Right to the end.
“What do you mean?” He gripped the hand tighter till the joints creaked.
You’re dying, Joe.
One
9.16 am
“HOW DO YOU feel?”
The question shouldn’t have caught him by surprise; after all, the session had been leading up to it. There was a grim inevitability to the counsellor’s words. But expectation didn’t soften the unease any. While it would’ve belittled the uniform to have squirmed, the soft plasti-leather couch in which he’d been instructed to recline suddenly felt unaccountably warm and uncomfortable. He was unused to luxury of this nature; it didn’t sit well with him. It smacked of indolence, indulgence. No-one made the tough calls—the hard, necessary decisions—from such a chair.
Like sentencing your brother to twenty years. That required backbone, didn’t it?
All the same, Perrineau picked up something in Dredd’s expression as soon as she’d said it—a muscle twitch, a slight grimace. The young Judge could picture the wheels turning behind the auxiliary’s blandly composed face. One hand jotted notes, though her eyes barely left Dredd, as if she was studying an animal behind glass, waiting for it to flinch, to strike, to betray any sign of its mood. She may as well have been poking him with a stick, though he knew her intention wasn’t to goad; she just didn’t understand him. She’d been chipping away at him—stoney-faced, some said, though he struggled to see the humour others evidently found in the epithet—for over forty-five minutes, and this was the first time she’d seen a crack appear.
Dredd knew she wasn’t going to let this go when the pen stopped moving and was set down. Fingers steepled under her chin, head cocked to one side, Perrineau was inviting an answer, one he was struggling to formulate the words for. What did she mean, anyway? How did he feel? Or how did he feel? The response to the latter was that he couldn’t, not really. He didn’t know how. He didn’t have the a
pparatus. As a consequence, trying to vocalise what he was experiencing amounted to counter-programming.
He’d queried the decision to send him here, of course. It seemed a supreme waste of resources and a massive impingement on his street time. He’d had a year now under his belt as a full-eagle Judge, and that was enough to whet the appetite, to keep calling him back, to make him aware of how crotchety and impatient he became when he wasn’t on the sked. It was where he belonged, and distractions such as this grated, to put it mildly. But he was in no position to disobey a senior command; he was still a rookie in the eyes of many, regardless of his lineage, and was expected to toe the line. When Goodman had told him to go make an appointment with Perrineau, he’d tried to respectfully decline, aware that the Chief Judge had his best interests at heart. The old man was adamant, though, and would brook no argument; he said it was a policy that would reap rewards. Judges should be psychologically fit as well as physically.
He hadn’t been slow to pick up the inference about Rico. Dredd’s clone-brother’s descent into corruption and criminality—leading to his arrest and indictment to Titan—was cause for concern at every level of the Grand Hall. That the Fargo bloodline should contain such a potential flaw, and for one of the Department’s leading lights to have fallen so far, had massive repercussions for their genetics programme; certainly, it shed serious doubt on whether there was any future in further offspring from the Father of Justice’s DNA. It had hit them hard, at the very heart of their system, suggested their foundations were built on a faultline. The powers-that-be had done their best to cover up the full extent of Rico’s exploits—though they’d been unable to prevent it leaking into the media; the lowlifes his brother employed or did business with were only too happy to sell their stories about the Judge on the take—but they couldn’t afford it to happen again. Suddenly, Dredd—even though he’d been the one to pull his sibling in, and sentence him—was under a lot more scrutiny. His passion and devotion to the Law couldn’t be questioned, but then again neither could Rico’s when they’d both graduated; all it took was a nudge down a road from which there was evidently no return, and all that training was channelled into theft and murder.
Judge Dredd: Year Two Page 13